


Hellish Endeavours

by MizzAndry



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Minor Spoilers, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:21:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27409495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizzAndry/pseuds/MizzAndry
Summary: You had never imagined that your humble life dedicated to the Library of Pergamum would earn you sanctuary in Elysium, but you certainly didn’t expect to find yourself in Lord Hades’ court. After failing to uphold your duties in life you’re determined to make amends in the underworld … that is, if you can keep a certain Prince from convincing you to make the same mistake twice.
Relationships: Reader/Zagreus, Zagreus/Reader
Comments: 38
Kudos: 400





	1. Prologue - Welcome to Hell

**Author's Note:**

> I'm shocked and appalled at the lack of Zag/Reader fics out there, so I guess this is my attempt to serve my community. Hope this scratches the itch for at least someone. 
> 
> Additionally this game has so many wonderful characters that can't be ignored. While this story will primarily focus on Zagreus, I'm really hoping to get some quality interactions in with other NPCs. Plus, I think its fun to explore how the mechanics of the game would influence the world and its inhabitants.

You were surprised by the warmth of the boatman’s hand as you clutched his bony fingers to steady yourself as you disembarked from his vessel. Whether the heat of his touch came from within his body or merely from his constant exposure to the flames of Asphodel you couldn’t be sure. Carefully you placed one foot on the marble steps before you, then another, and eagerly released Charon’s hand from your own. You turned to face him properly and swallowed thickly at his expression - those flaming eyes gave not a clue as to his thoughts or his temperament.

“Like I said before … I haven’t any money to pay you,” You cast your eyes downwards at the shame of saying such a thing outloud. You had come from a well-off family and although you had never had an overly affectionate relationship with your father, you at least expected a decent funeral and to be buried with fare for the ferryman. You had tried to explain this to Charon when he first approached you on the stark shores of the Styx, but the ghoul has simply extended a beckoning hand and grunted until you boarded his barge. Your plight was hardly enough to convince Charon to break his silence and the ferryman simply grunted in response. He set his oar against the marble steps at the edge of the narrow pool and pushed his boat off in the other direction, seemingly finished with you.

With a sigh you wrung your hands worriedly on the apron of your himation cloak. Taking Charon’s hand had left your skin covered in a fine ash and you were relieved to whip it away on your garments. Turning on your heels you moved to take in your surroundings and get a better understanding of where death had landed you. Your location seemed to be a great hall of some type with elegant walls that spanned far above your head. Both the floors and the walls were decorated in gilded mosaics and carvings more detailed and elegant than any you had seen in your living days. The hall was dimly lit but you could easily make out the bustling figures that shared the hall. All around you were clusters of translucent shrouds, vaguely human, shifting from spot to spot but either unaware or uninterested in you. Souls, perhaps, although you weren’t entirely confident. Mentally you sifted through your knowledge of the underworld (a considerable knowledge for a mortal as young as yourself) but nothing around you lined up with the realms you knew of.

“Oh, there you are!”

The sudden cry of a shrill voice behind you startled you nearly out of your skin, or at least would have if you had any skin left to speak of. You whipped your head around to find a figure dressed in scarlet robs floating down the hall towards you. Wait, floating? Your eyes doubled back to approaching man’s feet to confirm that he was indeed floating towards you. Caught off guard and suddenly intimidated, you glanced nervously around you, hoping that one of the ghosts would step forward, but you found no such relief. Hesitantly you raised a hand and pointed a finger at yourself with a questioning expression.

“Yes, you!” The figure chimed as he reached you, sounding both excited and exasperated at the same time. His height was difficult to make out, given his perch above the floor, but he seemed at first glance less frightening that Charon. The man seemed relatively young and held a real form unlike the countless shades surrounding you. At first you’re inclined to guess that this is Hermes given his tone, come to shepherd you into the afterlife, but you quickly realize that would be out of sequence. Squinting, you spotted the parchment between his hands and the sleeping mask perched atop his curls.

“Hypnos?” You ask timidly. You knew immediately that you were correct given the man’s sudden beaming smile.

“Well done! I wouldn't expect any less from the Caretaker of Pergamum.” You sighed in relief, pleased that you hadn’t offended the first God you’d met. While you weren’t sure how to address a god in the metaphorical flesh, at least you knew you were in the right place. Sort of you.

“Were you the one that arranged my passage on the River Styx?”

“Yes. Well, no. I mean sort of. Not me personally but I did take care of the finer details of getting you here.”

Out of politeness and a sensible amount of self preservation you tried not to let your frustration at his half-answer show on your face.

“And where, may I inquire, is here?”

“Oh right, silly me. This is the House of Lord Hades. Think of it as the head office of the afterlife.”

“The House of Lord Hades?” You echoed back in disbelief. You couldn’t possibly imagine what you’d done to land in the House of such a prolific deity. Perhaps all of humanity had been wrong about what transpired after death?

“I’m as shocked as you. According to my records,” Hypnos fumbled with his scroll for a moment, shadowy eyes zipping back and forth across the page, “You should be in Elysium - ah, wait! That was before you abandoned your post at the Library of Pergamum to elope with your lover.”

You face flushed horridly at the memory of your decision, stomach twisting with agonizing guilt.

“You should be in Tartarus. Hold it, no. That was before you were murdered. An unburied soul like you shouldn’t even be able to cross into the afterlife.”

You felt lightheaded now, as if suddenly struck by some strange fever. “Murdered?” You murmured in an attempt to digest this morbid news. Saying the word out loud didn’t make it feel any more real. That explained why your father hadn’t given you a proper burial, but you didn’t remember being murdered. The last thing you could recall was your wedding night.

“No worries - most mortals take a little time to remember how they died. Trauma and all that. But still … Hades seems to have pulled a lot of strings to get you here.”

“H-Hades?!” You repeated with rising distress. It seemed you weren’t able to do much more than parrot him in your shocked state. That alone wouldn’t have been so bad if Hypnos could just give you a straight answer or two.

“The one and only! Now come on, he’s waiting for you!”

-

You weren't sure if an hour or a day had past, but it certainly felt like a century since you’d arrived in the afterlife. _Make your choice, mortal, and be quick about it_ , Hades booming voice echoed in your head. It hadn’t taken you long to make the incredibly easy decision. You could spend 100 years waiting by the Styx to be let into Tartarus, where you would wander endlessly for all eternity, or you could accept a position as the House’s new archivist. You’d take the fate without eternal suffering, thank you very much.

Your stomach rolled with nerves even as you let your body crash down onto your new bed. You’d been awarded chambers as part of your new roll and you were deeply thankful to have a moment to yourself. The need for a sanctuary was all too familiar to you. When you had lived at the Library of Pergamum life was a constant rush of work and an endless line of underlings with new problems for you. At least there you had the respite of the Library’s gardens to hide away at night and find a few moments of peace for yourself. Your new chambers were nothing compared to the elegant night blooming flowers of Pergamum, but you’d settle for a break from Hypnos’ whirlwind conversations.

Staring up at the stone ceiling above you, you sighed and closed your eyes. You weren’t even sure sleep would come in a place like this but you were exhausted enough to try anyways. Still, even as your undead form ached for rest you couldn’t seem to settle your mind.

Who on earth would have murdered you?


	2. Chapter 1 - A Mouse of Ungodly Proportions

Death was much more agreeable than you had anticipated. You expected to be punished for all eternity for abandoning your vows to serve the Goddess Athena at the Library of Pergamum but that seemed irrelevant now. Well, almost irrelevant now. Lord Hades had made it irrefutably clear that your refuge from purgatory was directly linked to your job performance.

You took surprisingly easily to your new work due to the fact that it was nearly identical to your old work. Hades had appointed you as the Head Archivist of his Hall of Records which primarily comprised of organizing the seemingly endless rooms of scrolls. Familiar work, but daunting in its scale. The greatest balm was the sea of Shades who were eager to work and obedient to a fault. They proved to be better colleagues than the reams of egotistical men you had worked with in the mortal realm. You were still basking in the novelty of a workplace where you weren’t belittled or criticized every waking moment. 

The only downside to the Shades was that they weren't much for conversation. You were forced to look beyond your office for your social company but the afterlife was surprisingly well equipped in that respect, too. Hypnos was shockingly chipper and made an effort to chat each time you passed each other in the halls. You weren’t entirely sure what to make of him just yet, but you were grateful for the conversation. It didn’t hurt that Hypnos seemed to always have a new topic of interest despite living in a realm that never changed. 

Dusa had also become a fast friend once you learned that she wouldn’t be turning you into stone any time soon. Her jittery demeanour actually put you at ease, reassuring you that not everyone around you was a temperamental deity or element incarnate, and her reverence for the House made you feel hopeful that your favour with Hades was more than a mere passing fancy.

You were perched dutifully at your desk as you reflected on all this when a muted crashing noise followed by a cascade of dull thuds startled you out of your thoughts. It was enough to make you look up from the pile of documents on your desk to scan the empty chamber. The Shades had gone long ago, returned to their places of respite while you laboured into the night to try and get caught up on the back log. Hades had mentioned something about your position being empty, but you’d been too frightened to ask any questions. Instead you were determined to put in the extra hours until you had a good grasp on your workload, in hopes it might cement your status in the House. 

Your eyes scanned over the chamber and determined that nothing was out of place. Each stack of papyrus was exactly as the Shades had left them and even the glow of the torch light seemed steady and undisturbed. Still, the noise had been significant enough that you knew it would be irresponsible to not investigate. With a tired sigh you heaved yourself off your chair and snatched a torched from the wall to light your way. Despite the numerous childhood stories you had heard of the ghouls that inhabited Hades, you had no fear exploring the expansive chambers of the Hall of Records. Not all of the House’s residents seemed civilized, but you were confident in your Lord’s ability to protect the inhabitants of the house. You were prepared, at worst, to encounter mice of ungodly proportions.

You held your breath as you descended deeper into the archives, straining to listen for another bump in the eternal night. You could make out the softest sound of shuffling, a rustling of paper and fabric, far off in the darkness. Your grip tightened nervously around your torch as you thrust it out before you, only managing to illuminate a small portion of the library. 

“Who’s there?” You shouted sternly into the darkness. The distant shuffling ceased and your words were met with a lengthy pause before a voice echoed back.

“...No one?”

The voice was most certainly male but was hardly threatening or imposing. Its inflection curled upwards in a doubtful question, sounding almost boyish in its naive attempt to dissuade you from investigating further. You huffed angrily as you stepped further into the room. You were annoyed now, vexed by the realization that this encounter was going to be a waste of precious time.

Your light finally landed on the source of the commotion. A young man was crouched on the floor before one the numerous shelves with a chaotic pool of scrolls encircling him. It only took you a moment to connect the image with the sound you heard - this man had managed to dislodge a pile of scrolls from the top most shelf and knocked the entire collection to the ground. This was much less worrisome than giant rodents running around your archives, but much more annoying.

“What are you doing ransacking my archives in the middle of the night?” Your free hand rested on your hip which was cocked to the side, giving you an impatient posture.

“Your archives?” The man asked, an eyebrow arching gracefully on his refined face. You were struck by his eyes which twinkled in two different tones in the darkness. He seemed amused and your cheeks flushed as you realized how presumptuous your phrasing had been. Perhaps it was a bit bold to call them _your_ archives but you were determined not to yield to this pest.

“Yes, well, you don’t need to own something to be responsible for it,” You huffed.

“Ah, you must be the new archivist,” The man hummed casually at your comment, “Father’s been most boastful about having me replaced.”

You head tilted and your eyes narrowed every so slightly as you tried to make sense of his words. You had so little context for the things in this realm that it took you a minute to connect the dots. “L-Lord Zagreus?” You gasped as the penny dropped. Instantly you regretted taking such a bold tone with the Godling. You had no time to even worried about the fact that he insinuated you were his replacement.

“My apologies - I thought someone was interfering with your father’s records,” You bowed your head as you spoke, eyes darting to the floor. So far you hadn't mastered holding direct eye contact with Gods. At least you had eternity to work on your skills.

“Technically, someone is,” Zagreus gestured to the puddle of scrolls strewn about around him. His voice was soft as he shrugged his shoulders, highlighting the scrolls about to fall out of his precarious grasp. The sight of a mighty Godling struggling to manage a few books, combined with his humble demeanour, brought out a small smile on your face. You felt your annoyance subside just slightly. 

You knelt next to him and began to pick the scrolls up, neatly pilling them under your arm as if the motion was instinctual. “Perhaps this would be less destructive if I helped you find what you were looking for?” You asked as you rose to shelve the bundle of scrolls. The Prince stood next to you and you were taken aback by his stature. He had none of the comically oversized proportions of his father, but Zagreus still loomed over you as if every characteristic was increased by the slightest percentage. It was just now that you noticed how handsome the Prince was. His features were sharp and classical, highlighted and sharpened under the flickering darkness of the torch light. You verged on staring until you noticed that Zagerus was also attempting to re-shelve a number of scrolls. He stuffed them back into the shelf with something that looked like care but still resulted in a disorganized heap of crumpled scrolls. You felt your eye twitch as you pushed down a fresh wave of fury.

“Please Prince, such menial tasks are beyond your station.” You managed to push out in a terse voice.

Zagreus glanced at you with a perplexed look before glancing back at his handy work. He frowned slightly as he compared his jumbled shelf to your pristine one. “That’s not true in the least… but if you’ll help me track down a few records, I promise not to touch anything else.”

Your sigh of relief was so great you were sure they could feel a breeze all the way in the Elysium.

-

“Seems he broke into the Hall of Records just to see a record of his own deaths,” You said with a dismissive shrug. Dusa sat across from you (well, not exactly sitting - she hovered comfortably above the bar stool). Two glasses of bubbling iridescent blue liquid sat on the table before you, one with a straw pointed in Dusa’s direction. You weren’t entirely sure what you were drinking but you would happily sip on mud if it meant you didn’t have to while the hours away alone in your chambers.

“Woah, that’s amazing. You really, I mean, you’re really brave,” Dusa buzzed. You could practically see the stars in her eyes. Sometimes you worried that she was too easily impressed, to easily walked over, but her kindness was also such a rare flower in the underworld that you hadn’t the heart to push her to change. You would have been content to ponder on Dusa and her psychology but your brain caught up with the conversation.

“Wait - brave?” You perked up in your seat, “I didn’t do anything brave. I just helped him find a few scrolls so he wouldn’t tear apart the whole Archive.”

“Yes, but if Lord Hades finds out that you’re helping the Prince with his escape...” Dusa’s tone was a hushed whisper that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Dusa everyone here talks in riddles - can you please just explain what you're talking about?”

“Well, Prince Zagreus is trying to escape from Hades. He wants to reach the mortal realm.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that part.”

Dusa nodded her head nervously in agreement, causing her whole being to bob up and down slightly. 

“But he’s not allowed to leave. Hades forbids it.” 

You leaned back in your seat as you digested the new information. That would explain why Zagreus had been lurking around the Hall of Records after hours. 

“So … he’s like his father?” You asked curiously. 

“Yes, exactly! Doomed like all Cthhonic gods to reside within Hades for all eternity.” Dusa said cheerfully, her beaming smile unfettered by the gloomy conversation, “Personally I don’t see why anyone would want to leave. I mean, this place is great!”

“And … if Hades finds out I’ve been helping him?” You asked although you knew you didn’t want to hear the answer.

“He’ll probably banish you to Tartarus.” 

“Oh good,” You croaked, “That’s great. Great, perfect.” 

You reached for your mysterious drink and finished it off in one painful gulp.


	3. Chapter 2 - Scenes of an Afterlife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly 3.5k for an update - pretty big for me. I hope you darlings like it. 
> 
> I tried to build on the House a little bit and what the world is like for the Shades. Now that the reader is getting settled in, I'm excited to move on to more details about your life and death in future chapters.

The constant flickering of flames was an almost constant crackle that you grew fond of as you worked. There was no fresh air here or sunlight to lift your spirits so you settled for the familiar warmth of firelight as your only comfort. You didn’t dislike your workplace, per say, but it lacked the charm of Pergamum. The library had been built with a reverence for the natural world and with the intention of inspiring men to great achievements of science and literature. Its ornate columns stretched upwards to the heavens as if offering its many scrolls and odysseys to the Gods. The building itself was a cascade of rooms that flowed down a massive hillside, creating numerous courtyards that made your daily walks both refreshing and calming. 

The House of Hades was beyond the luxury of anything you had known in life, but at times it seemed as gloomy as any mortal prison. Not only was there no sun but you had noticed that the lighting never changed. The lamps and torches seemed eternally dimmed as if to give the illusion of a never ending dusk. The air was like the cool dampness of a wine cellar and although you never felt truly cold there was a lingering chill that made your limbs feel heavy. You would never admit it out loud for fear of offending your benefactors, but the glamour of the house served only to make an astonishing first impression. After a while, it was obvious that the House was a rather sad attempt at both architecture and interior design.

_ Perhaps that was the intention, _ you thought dismally as you tapped the butt of your reed pen against the edge of your desk,  _ how foolish to think the God of the Dead would consider mortal preferences in his home.  _

You were stolen away from your thoughts by a sudden whisper of words gargled together into a strange sort of soft cacophony. You glanced downwards and spotted a shade standing patiently in front of your desk. Although their words were ghostly whispers you could not decipher, you found you had no difficulty understanding their language. The little shades starred up at you with a curious expression peaking out from under its cloak. 

“Yes, can I help you?” 

The shade gibbered back to you, sounding like a dozen tiny mice feet scampering across marble steps, and raised up the empty jug in their hands to catch your attention. You glanced from the shade to the water cooler across the room.

“Can’t you replace it?”

_ “That isn’t my job,”  _ came the whispered reply. You sighed heavily, frustrated with the response. While the shades were a reliable and diligent workforce, you had found them to be almost entirely without their own motivation. They were equipped to serve a single function and had no interest in life beyond that. You were beginning to suspect Hades made great efforts to staff his house with unquestioning worker bees. 

“Isn’t there someone whose job it is to replace it?”

_ “They’re gone, banished to Erebus.” _

You resisted the urge to groan as you heaved your form away from your desk. You snatched the jar up from the shade who made an unsettling giggling noise, obviously proud of itself for resolving its own problem. Refilling the water cooler was far beneath your job description but you figured it would be faster to do the job yourself then it would be to argue with a stubborn shade. 

You passed the endless line of shades queued before Hades and knelt at the pond of Styx water that decorated the front of the House. Why the shades seemed so eager to drink from its waters was a mystery to you. You had never once felt the temptation to drink what you were sure was some form of blood, but you’d be happy to oblige their thirsts if it kept work in the archives running smoothly. 

You perched carefully at the edge of the river and lowered the empty jug into the waters. You watched the water ripple around the disturbance and listened to the low gulping sound of water rushing into the jug in bursts. It wasn’t so long ago that you were merely reading stories of the Styx and thinking you had decades before your afterlife. The thought was both amusing and depressing, and you were happy to meditate on it but the fates had other plans. You had only been bent over for a moment before the crimson waters gave way and a pair of piercing eyes peered at you from mere inches away. 

You shrieked instinctively at the sudden appearance of a shadowy monster emerging from the depths. Your body tensed, readying itself to scramble away, but the shock only knocked you off your balance. Your arms shot out to your sides and flailed as they looked to find purchase on something solid enough to save you, but they failed miserably and you felt the painful crack of your backside falling flat against the marble steps. The creature continued to rise from the water, looming over you in a mass of dripping shadow and blood. Without thinking you shrieked again and kicked your legs, trying to find a solid foothold so you could stop yourself from sinking even further into the viscus river. 

“Woah, hang on, let me help you.”

The sound of a calm voice made you realize that you had closed your eyes in terror at some point. Before you could react you felt a set of hefty hands grasp you under the arms and haul you up. You blinked helplessly as the creature lifted you off the ground as if you were no more than a sack of milled flower. 

“Are you hurt?” Zagreus asked as you watched the blood slide effortlessly from him as if it was snow melting off a rooftop. His hands shifted to better support you, one sturdy arm encircling your waist to keep you from toppling back onto your behind. Your legs felt like useless jello but you managed to place them flat on the ground. Your hands gripped Zagreus’ forearms automatically for reinforcement. You leaned against his broad form, effortlessly supported, as you caught your breath.  


“You!” you wheezed angrily, finally able to summon your voice. Your timid grasp on his arms turned into a furious vice grip as anger swelled over you. His skin radiated warmth under your fingertips but you were too distracted to pay any attention to the first warmth you’d felt in …. well, in however long you’d been dead for. 

“My apologies,” Zagreus frowned down at you, his expression a mixture of embarrassment and concern. You were surprised at how frightened he sounded. The Prince reached a hand up to brush the pooling blood waters from your shoulder and you jerked backwards, away from his sweltering touch. 

“How dare you,” you gasped, practically stammering, “What… what kind of monster lurks around, in the styx, waiting to jump out at people minding their own business.” Without thinking you released your grip and instead pushed the prince away. 

“Oh, I didn’t mean to -”

“And you had the nerve to trick me into helping you with your insane escape scheme!”

The prince seemed genuinely taken back and stared at you in disbelief for a moment.

“Now wait a moment, I never _tricked_ you into anything,” Zagreus replied firmly. His voice was still gentle, but it was stern enough to remind you that you were addressing royalty. The son of Hades and no less. You swallowed thickly, your nerve dissipating like steam.

“You broke into the archives the other day! I had no idea you were trying to do something so stupid. I would never have helped you if I knew you were trying to disobey Lord Hades.”

Zagreus hummed thoughtfully as you laid your concerns out before him. He appreciated the new clarity and although you were in no mood to be soothed, Zagreus couldn’t ignore his natural inclination towards pleasing people.

“Ah, I see. You have my sincerest apologies. I never meant to ‘trick’ you, as you say. People around here gossip so much I simply assumed everyone in the House knew of my escape attempts by now.”

“Well, _I_ didn’t.” You huffed, folding your arms over your chest. You were surprised that the river water had dropped from your clothes so quickly and that your robs were completely dry under your arms. You searched for more words to scold the Prince with but it was much harder now. His apologies made it much less satisfying to chew him out. Your anger deflated but you were more annoyed now that the Prince denied you your proper fury. 

“Not all of us were born into this house,” Your eyes dropped away, unable to hold Zagreus’ gaze without your anger to fuel your confidence, “Some of us have to work to keep our place here. I’d appreciate it if I didn’t have to explain to Lord Hades why I was abusing his kindness.”

Something changed in Zagreus’ composition that you couldn’t place. He seemed distant and preoccupied with something you weren’t privy to. The Prince seemed to instantly close off to you, a dullness snuffing out the pleasant gleam in his eyes. You got no sense of hostility from his posture but you also no longer felt welcome in his presence. 

“If there’s anything I can do beyond apologizing, I’d be happy to make this right. I suppose I can promise not to involve you any further.”

“That would be great, thank you.” You muttered, nodding your head once. The Prince’s tone was despondent and although you were furious at him a moment ago, you felt a newly awakened guilt. It was unnecessary and uncalled for, given that Zagreus’ had practically scared you into a whole new afterlife only moments ago, so you pushed it to the back of your mind where it wouldn’t bother you. 

You bent over and scooped the water jug from where it bobbed on the top of the river. It was hardly even half full, but the shades would have to make do. You pitied the shade that even tried to complain to you. Standing, you clutched the jug to your chest like a newborn and bowed half-heartedly to the Prince.

“Now if you excuse me, I have work to do,” you watched the Prince for a moment for his reaction. He smiled warily at you and stepped to the side as if to reassure you that he wouldn’t harass you any further. 

Unbeknownst to you, the Prince watched you saunter away down the great hall with a confusing sense of both irritation and admiration.

-

After the harrowing experience at the river you had decided to cut your day short. However, ‘short’ for you meant leaving at the end of your shift rather than lingering after hours. You headed straight to the lounge, eager for a relaxing beverage to ease your tired nerves. Careful not to trip over any of the tears gauged in the carpets, you ordered a mug of curious green liquid and moved to settle into a quiet corner of the lounge. You had almost made it until you spotted Dusa across the room and the soft excited rattle of her hair told you that she had spotted you too.

“Hi Dusa,” you practically sighed as you approached.

“Oh, you must be so happy!” Dusa sang back to you, literally buzzing in the air with excitement. “I can’t believe you’re already a star employee!”

You tilted your head curiously as you sipped your drink, mourning that the first sweet taste couldn’t have been had in peaceful silence. “Star employee?

“Didn’t you noticed the sign by the door?”

You shook your head. Dusa rose another inch in the air and smiled so widely that her fangs glimmered in the lamp light. As exhausted as you were, it was hard to not yield to Dusa’s contagious idealism. “Alright,” you said with a heavy sigh that mingled with a soft chuckle, “Show me this sign.”

You followed Dusa across the lounge until you returned to the door. She stood you in front of a large portrait posted on the wall next to a glimmering gold star. The portrait was an impeccably painted picture of a shade, no more distinguishable or noteworthy than any other shade.

“This is the star employee. It's sort of like a little thank you for House staff who do an excellent job. Lord Hades might seem really mean, but cares a lot about us. Wow, you must be so proud! I think it took me twice as long to earn a star portrait.”

You stared at Dusa. Then at the portrait. Then back at Dusa.

“Dusa is that … is that me?” You asked in disbelief, jabbing a finger helpless towards yourself.

“Of course silly! Don’t you recognize yourself?”

“No,” you moaned breathlessly. You approached the painting and stared at it, as if coming eye-to-eye with the image might make it transform into a human face you could recognize. Dusa rattled nervously behind you.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,”

“I look just like the others,” you murmured sadly. You glanced down at your hands and starred forlornly at the way your fingers just barely peaked out from the edges of your robes. You were suddenly very attached to your little human fingers. 

“I never noticed. Why didn’t I notice?” You snapped your gaze back to Dusa. A hot wave of embarrassment washed over you when you realized that you had been so self absorbed that you hadn’t even noticed you were merely another faceless shade milling about the House. You had simply assumed that this whole time you had kept your human form, as vivid and defined as any of the gods around you. You berated yourself for not so much as looking at your reflection.

“It’s pretty normal. I always forget that humans have a hard time with this.” Dusa’s smile was gone now and her hair drooped limply. “Hades has a strange sort of effect on mortal shades - makes them sort of …. Well, sort of sleepy. I think that’s the only way you mortals can face eternity.”

You felt your heart drop in your chest. You had never been a vain person - you worked in a library under an oath of celibacy, for Zeus’ sake - but you had a certain attachment to your likeness. The thought of spending the rest of eternity as a hazy faceless shade made you feel empty. Eternity suddenly felt like a yawning void of meaningless existence. 

“What about Achilles?” you asked desperately, searching for a way out of this curse. “He looks the way he was when he was alive. And Orpheus! Him too!”

“Well, some humans who achieve great deeds in life keep their form in the afterlife. Something to do with the strength of their soul, I think.”

“So you’re saying I’m stuck like this for eternity...”

“Oh, no! Not at all. A strong willed shade usually gets their form back -”

“Oh, thank Zeus -’”

“After a couple of centuries.” 

You took a long slow inhale. You felt like you were about to discover if the dead could have headaches. 

“Better than nothing,” you muttered bitterly, “Come on Dusa, I need a stronger drink.”

-

Normally Dusa made delightful company, but not tonight. Her chatting cut through you like knives and you couldn’t concentrate on a single word. You were sure that you were missing important house gossip but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You couldn’t get over that death had stolen your face and now you were doomed to spend the next hundred years as a pile of bath robes. And, that was after the embarrassment of causing a scene in the great hall. You weren’t looking forward to Hermes asking you about that tomorrow. All you wanted was to slink through the halls of the House unnoticed and sink into the merciful sanctuary of your bed.

“Ah, Archivist!” 

You closed your eyes slowly and took a deep breath in through your nose. You knew that voice. It was the last voice in Hades you wanted to hear. “Yes, my Lord Prince?” You forced a pleasant tone as you turned on your heels to face Zagreus. You forced a smile onto your face even though you knew there was no point - you hardly had a face to speak of it. Except, you realized suddenly, the prince had called to you specifically.

“Wait, you can recognize me?”

“Well, yes,” Zagreus replied, at first surprised that you were surprised but then realizing that you had a point. He normally wasn’t adept at telling one shade from another, “You’ve got a specific walk, I think.”

“A…. specific walk?” You pried curiously. 

“Yes, you seem much more … confident than the other shades. You walk with purpose.”

You persed your lips together, reflecting on that thought. It wasn't objectively a compliment, but it suited your tastes. After finding out that you had lost your identity, knowing that you stood out from the other shades even mildly was reassuring. It didn’t hurt that it was because you had more purpose about you. You resisted for a moment but then relented, allowing the Prince this one victory. 

“Was there something you needed?”

“Yes, actually. I needed to give you this,” the Prince raised a hand to hold up an offering to you. He held out a small glass bottle that sat easily in the palm of his hand. Its insides, a thin amber liquid, sloshed sleepily inside the jar. “I wanted to apologize, properly. It wasn’t right for me to get you involved in all this - even by accident.”  Zagreus’ voice sounded genuine and you resented that. His apology was modest, but it was clearly heartfelt and well meant. There was no way you could reject it and you begrudgingly accepted that you couldn’t stay mad at him. You’d have to settle for a low level of annoyance from now on. 

“That’s very kind Lord Zagreus, but I can’t accept this.” You replied humbly. Part of staying under Hades’ vindictive radar was not accepting gifts from anyone above your rank.

“Please, I insist,” Zagreus stepped forward and took your hand before you could stop him. He pressed the bottle into your open hand and you weren’t sure how to respond. You weren’t scared out of your mind this time which meant you were fully aware of his touch. His hands were more callous than you expected but soft all the same, leaving a fading and wanting warmth where he’d touch you. 

“If you insist….” you yielded, circling your ghostly fingers around the cool glass of the little bottle.

“I absolutely do,” a cheeky smile rose across his lips that made you nervous, for good reason. “And, so you don’t accuse me of tricking you again, you should know that nectar is contraband around here.”

“Zagreus!” You hissed, stepping back in alarm. You glanced down in horror at the tiny bottle of trouble in your hands.

“Hold on, I'll explain,” the Prince chuckled, amused by your innocent reaction, “it's technically contraband, but there isn’t a shade here that doesn’t have a bottle hidden away in their chambers. Father doesn’t really care as long as no one is running about brandishing it.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly at the Prince who was looking far too pleased with himself. “You delight in tormenting me, don’t you?”

“Only a little” Zagreus practically beamed at you now, “But no, really, I think you deserve it. Father is slightly more tolerable when he isn’t groaning about his archives.”

“And you really did owe me an apology.”

“Yes, I did. So - are we even now?”

You paused for a moment to consider the proposal. You noticed that Zagreus watched you hopefully and so you waited just an extra second in hopes it gave him just a smidge of uncomfortable suspense.

“Yes, I suppose so,” you settled finally, resentfully, “But I’d better not catch you in my archives again.”

“I swear,” Zagreus held his hand over his heart and you wondered for a moment if he even had organs, “May Cerebus turn me into a chew toy if I even step foot in your archives again.”

“Alright then,” you said, pleased with your new agreement. There was no promise that Zagreus wouldn’t torment you elsewhere in the House, but at least you would be safe inside the archives. “Well, all the best with your escapes, Lord Zagreus,” you bowed lightly and tucked the bottle into the folds of your robes before returning to your business, floating sleepily down the hall. 


	4. Chapter 3 - New Allies

There were times when Zagreus knew the next chamber would be his death. More often than not it would happen in Elysium. Something about the combination of soul-sucking butterflies and exploding chariots always seemed to trip him up, distracting him from the pressing gangs of ethereal warriors. His only saving grace was the occasional mercy of Chaos who was cruelly absent today. This time Zagreus watched the transoms above the stone archways shimmer and give way to disappointment. His choice was between obols and pomegranates - neither of which would sustain him long enough to survive another chamber. 

With a defeated groan the young prince collapsed to the ground, letting his broken body drop onto the cool grass with a dull thud. The blades tickled his cheeks as he breathed in the damp smell of dirt and mist. In all his long struggles Zagreus had never once thought of giving up on his overall goal, but it was clear to him that this attempt was a lost cause. His limbs ached violently even during this total respite. There was certainly no way he could gather enough strength for Theseus, not with the way his blood sank so readily in the ground below him.

Despite being immortal his blood seemed human enough - the words  _ red blood _ hissed bitterly in his mind - and he couldn’t help wondering if it was truly the same. Was this what death felt like to the living? Had Achilles felt the same numbing cold as his blood ebbed away at Troy? He supposed he could always ask when he returned, although it was unlikely Achilles would appreciate the conversation. 

With such morose thoughts Zagreus was nearly resigned to his fate when the nearby rustling of grass and feet alerted his senses. He snapped to attention, as much as the mortally wounded could, and reached instinctively for his sword. Bleeding to death of his own volition was one thing, but the thought of being struck while lying down by some pompous Elysian thug made his last remaining drops of blood boil. Just as the prince wrapped his hand around the hilt of the discarded Stygius, a sturdy foot stamped down on the blade and pinned it to the earth. Had the intruder disturbed him only a few moments ago perhaps Zagreus could have done something about the predicament. Now he could only muster the strength to haul himself up onto his forearms and crane his neck for a better look. 

To his surprise the figure before him cut the form of a woman rather than a soldier. She was tall for a mortal and her broad figure made her as imposing as any Elysian warrior. Zagreus wasn’t sure if her outfit depicted her as she was in life, as with Patroclus, or as a servant of the House, as with Theseus, but either way her clothes spoke of wealth and fine taste. The linen of her gown was an earthy green and swooped gracefully into a peak at each shoulder, fastened with ornate brass lion heads. Its hem, which dangled before Zagreus’ face, was decorated with embroidery depicting golden grape leaves and violet blooming acionite. Several silken pockets, embroidered to match, hung from looped strands of treated leather around her waist. Lastly a crimson cape, thick and edged with dark furs, hung lazily across one shoulder. 

“Easily little Prince - I’ve no interest in such easy prey.” 

Zagreus would have taken offence to such a remark had he the energy and had it not been so true. The figure bent and firm hands grasped beneath his arms, hauling him to his feet. Even once he stood Zagreus needed to lean heavily on the stranger, who took no issue with this and slung one of the prince’s arms over their shoulder without reserve. “You’re helping me?” Zagreus murmured with a groan, squinting through his own blurring vision to get a better look.

He felt the women shrug, jostling him with her indifference. She was a woman of some age although Zagreus couldn’t guess exactly - the details of aging were confusing and unknown to him. Lines creased the corners of her eyes and her dark skin seemed well worn by the sun, but she moved with an ease and strength that suggested she had died long before age could take her. Her face was symmetrical and pleasant, with a dainty nose the punctuated broad cheeks. Her dark curls were skilfully woven into a crown around the circle of her head and tied there with an ornamental string of glimmering glass beads. She was a welcome sight as far as Zagreus was concerned.

“If my father finds out that you’re helping me -”

“I thought if anyone would understand the simple joys of denying the Gods - it would be you.” The woman's lips curled into a smirk and Zagreus was suddenly sure that she must be younger than he originally guessed. With Zagreus on one side she plucked his broad sword from the ground and began the slow task of easing the prince towards the exit.

“You’re going to fight?” The prince asked with some surprise. Her grip on Stygius seemed familiar and confident, but her boldness still took him back. His assumption was greeted with a gentle chuckle.

“Oh please - who has time to fight their way through a Labyrinth?”

As if summoning femininity from some secret place, the broad lady raised a hand with a poise that Zagreus had only seen demonstrated by Nyx. A golden ring lay nestled on the fingers of her left hand and its ruby centre, a large circular stone, shimmered as she wiggled them next to Zagreus’ cheek. As the stone wiggled it caught the light just right, revealing a glimmering thread that extended out from its centre. The ruby thread spread before them in a long gossamer line directly to the transom of the gateway before them. With one more precise wiggle of her fingers the doorway changed, giving way to an icon Zagreus had never seen before. The obol became a golden crown back lit with rays of golden light. 

“Blood and darkness,” Zagreus inhaled at the sight only to wince at the sudden stabbing between his ribs.

-

“That was incredible! That was more than incredible, that was … impossible. ” Zagreus declared as he settled in the shelter of the glen. The stranger’s abode was less refined than Eurydice’s but more furnished than Patroclus’, and either way Zagreus was grateful for the shelter. The space wasn’t defined by walls or a roof, but there was no need for such things here in Elysium. Instead a line of decaying marble columns marked out a rough space akin to a room and woven vines of wisteria draped between them to suggest a roof. The pillars were risen on either side of a steep grassy incline, giving the space a sense of receding deeper into the ground than it really was. A series of shelves had been carved into the incline and were brimming with a baffling number of bottles and urns. At the centre burned a hearth adored with a simmering cast iron cooking pot. 

“That was nothing, just an old hand-me-down. You Gods are careless with your trinkets, you know.” The stranger said as she waved a hand dismissively in the air. She paid little attention to the prince as she buzzed about the space, gathering up packets and bottles from her vast shelves. At last she sat on the ground next to the prince and began her work - dumping powders and dried herbs into a little stone bowl, and grinding them down with vicious intent. She worked in silence, unnerving Zagreus who found it difficult to look away from the ruby gleam of her ring as her hands wrought the herbs. 

“You’re a healer? Must be a lot of you here in Elysium -”

“Witch, actually.”

  
“Oh. But I thought witches went to- “

“Most do. Most work to fulfill their own goals, or make money off the desperate.” 

Zagreus found himself perplexed by the stranger's curt way of speaking, cutting him off sharply as if she already knew what he was about to say. Perhaps she was a seerer as well? He’d heard stories about mortals who could see glimpses of the Fate’s plans. 

“And you didn’t?”

“No, but I was no hero either. I kept to myself, raised a few noble sons … apparently that’s good enough for your father.”

Zagreus wrinkled his nose in confusion. He didn’t know much about human life, but he thought witches were unwanted creatures without families. He’d have to ask Nyx next when he returned home. He didn’t dare ask his rescuer. 

“Speaking of my father - you’re helping me just to spite him? Is that wise?”

The woman peered up from her work and smiled, her expression warm but knowing in a way that made him uneasy. She scooped a ladle of boiling liquid from the cooking pot to mix into her workings and then saddled up next to Zagreus. 

“A mortal life is so fleeting, Zagreus, yet it feels so long. It is full of no end of sufferings and losses and betrayals. And all the while, each mortal life is merely a distance whisper to the Gods. We spend our precious fragile lives at their mercy. I know this will change nothing - perhaps it's only foolish self indulgence - but it is immensely satisfying to exist outside their rules for a brief moment.” The stranger retrieved a cloth from the folds of her tunic and soaked a corner with a generous amount of her concoction. Then with a gentle hand she pushed the torn fabric of Zagreus’ robe from his shoulder and applied the mixture to his wounds. Her touch was comforting and confident, and Zagreus had no doubt that she told the truth about raising sons. He may not know his own mother but Zagreus knew, achingly so, that this was a mother’s touch.

“Do you really think the Olympians are so horrible?” Zagreus asked indignantly, eyes turned downwards to watch her curious ministrations on his chest. 

His nurse sighed, long and thoughtful. “No, not exactly horrible. But ignorant - like children playing with ant hills. They seem to not know any better, but it's tiresome all the same.”

The thought made Zagreus pause. His family seemed eccentric and excitable - a little scary at times, he’d admit - but they hardly seemed cruel. They were nothing but welcoming and supportive of his efforts and yet … Nyx _had_ advised caution. 

“No offence to you, Prince.”

“Hmm? No, of course not.” Zagreus banished his thoughts for later. For now, he needed to focus. His chest was no longer aching and cold, but thrumming as his wounds began to heal under the stranger’s attention. “Even if I was offended, I’m not sure I could say anything. I think I’m rather in your debt at the moment.”

The stranger laughed, a short huff, and smiled at him for the first time. “Consider it a symbiotic exchange.”

-

They passed the rest of their time in relative silence. The stranger seemed content with the quiet and Zagreus, who was much less content with the lull in conversation, held his tongue to preserve his access to her healing treatment. He was delighted when she placed a steaming washcloth over his face and chest, encouraging him to close his eyes and breath in the herbal steams. He was equivalently disappointed when the cloth cooled and he was ushered to his feet, good as new but longing for one more moment of rest.

“Right, well, thank you very much. Suppose I should go carry on. Thesus won’t defeat himself after all,” Zagreus’ words were aimless, merely attempting to fill the void between them as he gathered up his sword and adjusted his robes. “Would you … like to accompany me? I’m not sure how it works, but I'm sure I could get you a front row seat.”

The stranger’s nose crumpled in disgust. “As delightful as it would be to watch you get slaughtered, I’d rather box my own ears than listen to another word from Thesus.”

“Fair enough… well, thank you again. It was nice to have met you, miss …?” Zagreus reached a hand towards the stranger to shake, but it only hovered between them. The woman clapped a hand on his shoulder and extended the other towards the stone exit. Her forced smile and raised brow was enough to send Zagreus on his way.

Halfway to the door he paused, turning back to catch the stranger watching him impatiently with one hand crooked on her hip. He nearly lost his nerve but forced the words out of his mouth. He would kick himself if he didn’t at least try. 

“Any chance you’d consider lending me that ring of yo-”

“ _ Goodbye _ Zagreus!”

-

“Could I ask you something?”

You looked up from your scroll to find the Prince of the underworld staring down at you tentatively. 

You were perched lazily on one of the plush recliners in the west hall. You’d long ago picked up the habit of reading there on your lunch breaks or after hours. The silence of the artifacts was much more acceptable to you than the chatter of the lounge. Hades had given you access to historical knowledge of which you’d never dreamed of while alive - you wanted to enjoy it somewhere quiet where you could focus. 

“I thought we agreed that I wouldn’t help you with your escapes.” You answered firmly and cast your eyes back down to your scroll.

“No, it's nothing like that. I had questions… about mortals.”

“Sounds like work for Achilles - he’s your teacher, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but …”

The pause from the otherwise wordy prince caught you attention. You glanced up to see a worried expression on his face and you raised an eyebrow curiously at him. At least, you thought you did. You could never quite be sure what you were expressing with this bland shade body of yours. 

“What? This isn’t a question about  _ women, _ is it?”

The prince seemed to start at your words, shoulders snapping stiffly back. “No,” Zagreus cooed back with a tinge of embarrassment, “Its just that … Achilles never receives my questions about mortal life well. Violent death, and all that.”

You pursed your lips together as you considered Zagreus’ request. On the one hand, you were needlessly insulted that he expected you to be more receptive. It was a childish thought but you had died a violent death too, thank you very much. Yet, on the other hand, you couldn’t think of any legitimate reason to deny him. Plus, the mighty prince looked strangely helpless and lost. Turning him away now might actually be cruel. 

With a great sigh you swung your legs off the end of the lounge chair and set your scroll down carefully on the floor. You patted the empty space and Zagreus sat down immediately, as if afraid your offer would be revoked at any second. 

“Do humans hate the Gods?” Zagreus blurted as soon as he was seated. He sat facing you, his piercing eyes locked on your face. You could see desperation there, a longing need for answers. You lifted a hand to hide your laughter at the naivety of his question.

“What? Humans are  _ obsessed _ with the Gods. It's all we talk about, expect war and politics. And even then, we just talk about who the Gods will favour in war and politics.”

“Yes, but that’s different than liking them. I mean … don’t human’s resent the Olympians? You know, because they can do whatever they please?”

“ _Ah_ ,” You hummed as you finally understood his true question. Resting one arm on the back of the lounge you set your head against your hand, studying Zagreus and smiling despite yourself. 

You had spent most of your life in a library - a sanctuary of knowledge and philosophy - but you had only been a caretaker and had never known the privilege of open debate. You were surrounded by the works of great thinkers who had greater freedoms; they could critique the Gods and ponder the usefulness of man’s subjugation to them, but these were conversations you could never participate in. You had lived a life of ravenous listening and learning, but without a voice. How strange that you should suddenly be given such a chance in death and in front of a demi-god, no less. 

“That depends on the human.”

You had to bite down on the inside of your cheek to stop from smiling at the sudden crestfallen look on Zagreus’ face. There was something almost cute about the way he seemed so eager for an answer.

“What I mean is - it depends on if a mortal has a  _ reason _ to like the Gods. Heroes and kings might adore the Gods for all their blessings, while the poor or the sick might hate them for their neglect.”

“That makes sense, I think.” Zagreus’ brow wrinkled in thought as he digested your perspective. There was so much more whirling in his mind but he wasn’t ready to ask yet. He couldn’t find the words to ask what drove the Gods to be cruel to some mortals in the first place. All he could manage was a soft “So do you like them?”

It was your turn now to stiffen in surprise. You leaned back against the couch as you cocked your head. “That’s a rather dangerous question for a mortal to answer to a God,”

This time it was Zagreus who chuckled lightly, “I already know what you think of me. You tolerate me.”

“Just barely.”

“Yes, yes. But please, tell me … was my family cruel to you?”

The words washed over you with a weight you hadn’t expected.  _ Was my family cruel to you? _ There was almost a sadness in his tone and you felt his regret, his innocent, soften your disposition. 

“No, my lord, I had my tragedies but they were no greater than any other’s.” Your voice was almost pleading, to your own surprise, as if eager to soothe his worries. “To tell you the truth I never really knew the Gods’ influence one way or another, I think. My family wasn’t religious. That is to say, we didn’t worship. My parents didn't allow prayers or offering on our estate. They felt it was better to live one’s life by one’s own means, and let the God’s make their own decisions unswayed.” 

“That’s … strange.”

You felt your cheeks flushed at the prince’s comment but you knew he was right. Your eyes cast themselves downwards as you pulled your hands into your lap, subconsciously making yourself smaller in a sheepish attempt to avoid his gaze. 

“Yes, it was. Don’t get me wrong, we went to festivals, but … I suppose that was only for appearances.” You were barely twelve years old when your father sent you away to apprentice at Pergamom and the ways of your family were distant memories. You had always know that your family was odd, you knew to keep that part of your past secret, but you had never really taken the time to dig into the matter. “I suppose my parents were frightened of them. Perhaps they thought if we stayed quiet enough, the Gods would be too busy with everyone else to bother us.”

To your relief Zagreus smiled warmly at the thought. Unbeknownst to you, that strategy had worked wonders for Hades and Nyx in their efforts to hide him away from Olympus. 

“Either way, we all end up here, don’t we?” You said with a shrug, eager to change the topic to something other than yourself. 

“Yes, I suppose.” Zagreus’ hand twitched, flexing for a split second into a half formed fist from the effort to stop his next thought. If mortals all ended up dead, then why did they care so much about what happened when they were alive? The question burned inside him, but he loathed the thought of asking you another question. He could see the way you wilted before him and shifted uncomfortable, and he already felt that he had overstepped his limits. 

“I’m sorry, I … I didn’t mean -”

“No, its alright,” You interjected, not wanting to endure Zagreus’ fumbling apologies, “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a better answer. There’s a lot about life that humans haven’t figured out yet, but I’ll try my best to answer your questions when they pop up.”

“I’d like that.”

Zagreus’ voice was warmer than you had ever heard - no trace of jest or teasing or impatient. You could hear his gratitude and that, combined with the kind gratitude in his ears, made your chest tighten and your face mirrored his smile automatically. 


End file.
